


most beautiful things

by scarletbluebird



Series: paper moon [1]
Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: F/M, Fairytale elements, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mystery, Pining, isak is in med school, look i got nothing ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:20:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23194630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletbluebird/pseuds/scarletbluebird
Summary: This isn’t a fairytale, Isak tells himself.Even is standing at the bend in the road. He looks like a metaphor for immortal life: the youth a god would kill for. Ambrosia eyes, the universe trapped in the curve of his mouth. He looks like every warning from his mother about strangers you run into after dark.
Relationships: Eva Kviig Mohn/Jonas Noah Vasquez, Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen
Series: paper moon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712710
Comments: 24
Kudos: 62





	most beautiful things

most beautiful things

“Stay here,” his mother gasps, pushing at him until the cold bark digs into his back. “Isak, are you listening? Stay here.”

“Mama,” he wriggles away from her gripping hands, curls into the dark hollow of the tree. “Where are you going?”  
  


“I’ll be right back,” Her eyes are so wide her irises are ringed in white, the fog of her breath mists around her mouth. It’s cold, he thinks, his feet are cold. There’s snow on the ground, snow in her eyes. “Isak, stay here. Stay here. I’ll be right back.” She takes a step away, another, another, and then she’s gone, lost in the haze of the snow. Isak stands for a moment, like a deer before a bright light. Then he sinks slowly down to the ground and pulls his knees to his chest.

“She said she’ll be right back,” He whispers, looking out into the white. It’s a world of drifts now and creaking trees. _She_ _’_ _ll_ _be_ _right_ _back_ _,_ Isak thinks desperately. He has a lifetime to believe it.

* * *

**18 years later**

Isak’s life is pretty ordinary. He’s not what you would call interesting. When he started his internship, he’d been asked to write three interesting facts about himself on an index card – typical icebreaker bullshit– and he couldn’t really think of one.

_I like hats_ he’d written. But, did he? He usually wears a snapback he’d stolen from Jonas years ago, red faded to a pale pink from decades under the sun. But wearing it was more of out of habit than attraction. Oh well, it was written now. _I like to take walks_ he’d managed to scribble out before his new boss had asked for them to hand in their cards. Marina, the bored looking redhead who’d been paired with him, had given him a look of pity when she’d read his card. So yeah. Not the most interesting person out there.

He wakes up every morning when his alarm goes off at 06:00. He eats his blueberry yogurt and drinks his bitter coffee, stumbles gummy eyed into the shower. Shaves, brushes his teeth. Feeds and waters his evil cat. Fumbles on his scrubs and bikes his way to school. He spends four hours on the clinic floor, eats lunch down in the cafeteria, and spends the next 6 hours in the Lair aka the laboratory on the 8th floor. Rinse and repeat. 

“Last sample of the day Valtersen, so look alive.” Leo slides the tissue sample against his elbow as he makes his way across the room yawning. “I’m headed out for the night. I’ll see you mañana.”

“Ok sounds good,” Isak grumbles, making his way over to the wash station to clean his hands and pull on a fresh pair of gloves. “What have you got for me?” He asks the tray, pulling it towards him and reaching for a micropipette.

While the centrifuge is spinning down with the markers, Isak sets up the scope and waves to Leo as he heads out for the night. He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes until the machine pings and then he groans and heaves himself up, knees cracking.

He’s half assedly scrolling through the electrophoresis results on the lab computer when he reads something that makes him nearly choke on his spit. “What the fuck?” He scrolls back a couple of pages and leans forward until his nose is a millimeter away from the monitor. He goes through the next handful of pages at a snail’s pace to make sure he’s reading the numbers correctly. Then he stands and races over to pull his phone out of his satchel, skids back to take pictures of the monitor, the gel tray, the tissue sample.

“2121,” he writes the sample number down with a shaky hand and opens up an email to request for another tissue sample for tomorrow. Then he packs up the sample and fridges it, stares at it where it sits innocuous on the shelf, shakes his head and laughs. Finally, a breakthrough.

* * *

It’s almost dawn by the time Isak leaves the labs. He has a crick in his neck from staring through the microscope, and his eyes are burning with exhaustion. His mind is too wired for sleep so he grabs a cup of coffee from the 24 hour deli and heads down towards the harbor, giving the wandering homeless wide berths. He sits on a bench and gazes out over the water, tries to make out the stars through the velvet night. As the dawn begins to creep its way over the horizon with a soft slow pink glow, he lets himself think _this_ _will_ _be_ _huge_ _,_ and _what_ _if_ , and _how_

He rubs at his eyes and stands from the bench. When he turns around he nearly slams into a morning jogger who was sprinting down the path. Cold coffee explodes everywhere like a geyser.

“Sorry!” They both exclaim at the same time. The man laughs, pulling out an ear bud. His face is wind chapped but Isak is struck dumb for a moment by the blue of his eyes. Belatedly he realizes he has coffee dripping down his pant leg, his hair is a mess of curls around his head, his glasses are smudged against his face.

“Oh shit,” He says in dismay. This was his last pair of clean scrub bottoms; he’s going to have to do a massive load of laundry today.

“Oh shit,” The man echoes, probably realizing that Isak is in fact a drippy mess and not in fact, the Adonis of his dreams. He holds his hands up as if that could do anything. “I’m so sorry!”

Isak lets out a shaky laugh, “It’s okay, these were due for a wash anyway.”

“Still, your coffee…can I get you another one?” The guy’s got his earphones around his neck now, face earnest. The morning wind keeps blowing his hair in his eyes.

“No, no it’s ok…I was done anyway,” Isak half lies. He feels a sudden need to flee the scene; feels like a dunce with his soaked pants and messy hair. It figures he always meets the cutest guys when he looks like shit. He lifts his empty cup in a salute as he begins to back towards the trash can. “Sorry I threw off your groove man.” Oh god, teleport him.

The jogger laughs and squints over at him. Opens and closes his mouth, opens it again. “Don’t worry about it. You sure about that coffee?”

He’s tempted but he’s so tired a rock would probably make better conversation than him. Plus he feels like an idiot. “Yea, I’m fine. I’ve been up all night anyway so I should go home and sleep.”

“Doctor?” The man asks.

“Hopefully someday,” Isak quips, shoving his hands in his pockets. The man laughs again.

“Right,” he says grinning. They stand there for a moment before Isak shakes himself out of it,

“Well have a good one,” he says, nodding goodbye.

“See ya,” The man responds. Isak doesn’t let himself look back.

* * *

By the time he gets home his eyes feel full of sand. Time is a strange honeyed thing, stretched thin with his exhaustion. Minutes seem like hours. He spends an eon washing his face and brushing his teeth. He shoves his wet scrubs in the washer along with a pile of dirty towels. In the shower he mourns his inability to flirt. Ironic how his friends used to say he had game. The risk really made everything harder.

The hallway to his mattress takes centuries to traverse. His bed is a soft dark anchor that he all but collapses onto. Kailash lets out an angry mrrreoow from somewhere in the mountain of covers. “Sorry girl,” he mumbles, closing his eyes. Next door, his neighbor is playing a slow mournful lament on the piano. The soft notes make him melancholy, like a forgotten memory caught just out of reach in the corner of his mind. Covered in cobwebs. He imagines himself deep under a thousand feet of snow, at the entrance of a cave, its mouth a great maw. Cavernous, unknowable. Sleep sweeps over him in a relentless wave.

* * *

The next day he spends an agonizing morning suffering through his general pathology course. Why does the school persist in making them take gen ed classes? Iris, one of the classmates he sits next to, complains to him about this guy she’s been casually seeing. Some techie who’s super into computers. Apparently, he’s also super into being tied up which Iris isn’t sure she’s completely into. Isak half wants to tell her that’s why he doesn’t use online dating apps, half wants to ask her for help making a profile. It’s been so long since someone other than himself has had a hand on his dick he doesn’t even really remember it. He manages to come to a compromise between the two emotions and says nothing.

After classes, he’s jittery, anxious to get to the labs. Leo’s not in the room when he uses his keycard to swipe in so Isak busies himself with checking his emails. The lack of any new emails sets his spider senses tingling. He rubs his mouth for a second before sighing and grabbing the desk phone out of its cradle. The automated system has him pressing so many buttons, he’s worked himself into an irritated state by the time Leo whistles his way into the lab.

“Number 2121,” Isak asks the coroner after being on hold for fifteen minutes. He raps his pen, tap tap tap on the countertop until he catches Leo giving him the side eye. “We just got a sample in…two days ago?” There’s a pause over the phone and then the man says in a voice fuzzy through the line: “Sorry. No intake by that number here.”  
  
“But,” Isak says blankly, “that’s impossible I have the tag logged.” _I_ _have_ _the_ _damn_ _tissue_ _sample in my freezer._  
  
“Sorry,” the man says again, sounding bored. “Can I help you with anything else?”  
  
“No,” Isak grits out. “You’ve been so helpful already.” He has to force himself not to slam down the phone and stews for a moment in silence. Then a thought floods through him, making his fingers tingle.

“Leo,” He asks slowly, throat tight. “did you take a look at my log results from yesterday?”

“Yea,” Leo’s frowning down at his phone, no doubt texting his husband. The two of them had been married for years but still acted like newlyweds. A fact which both disgusted and amused Isak depending on the day. “thanks for running the diagnostics for me.”

“Dude,” Isak says after a heart racing second. “Did you _read_ the results.”

Leo finally looks up, brow wrinkled. “Yes,” he says slowly before shrugging. Straightens his tie. There are tiny spaceships on it. “So?”

“What?”

“What do you mean ‘what?’ I read the results.”

Isak turns without responding and types his login into the terminal. His hands are so sweaty it takes a couple of tries. He doesn’t let himself think as he clicks through the folders. The data report comes up from the night before and he scrolls down to his section, heart pounding. Input, input. For a long minute he sits there, static fitzing through his brain like wildfire. Then he wipes his mouth, leans back and pulls his phone from his pocket going to his pictures. He closes his eyes with relief. Swallows.

“Hey Leo,” he says quietly, after a moment. “Can you come here?”

Leo heaves a sigh and shuffles over grumbling something about annoying kids that Isak ignores. He hands him his phone silently.

“What is this supposed to be?” Leo asks after a moment, voice quiet.

“Sample 2121.”

Leo frowns before leaning over the consol to click on the recorded results. Isak waits, lets him come to his own conclusions. Leo’s a pretty bright bulb so he doesn’t have to wait very long.

He leans back, mouth pinched tight. “I take it you called in for another sample?”

“That’s who I was on the phone with when you rolled in,” Isak drawls. “Coroner denies ever having a 2121.”

“And yet.” Leo sighs. He runs a hand through his dark hair and pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment. “Fuck. We are so fucked. Do you know what this means?”

Isak doesn’t really want to know what it could mean. It’s like some sort of bizarre sci-fi low budget television show. The kind that’s on real late at night; super shitty CGI, terrible writing, but it’s the only thing on so you gotta watch. He feels like he’s standing in a dark room at the edge of some great precipice only he can’t quite _see_ it. A gaping, yawing mouth down below.

“I think so?” he whispers. He walks in a daze to the freezer, stands there for a moment at a loss. He glances over his shoulder at Leo who’s standing stock still, watching. Isak sighs and pulls open the door.

“Goddamit,” he bites out although he’s not surprised.

2121 is gone. The petri dishes on either side, untouched.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon is a wash. Isak can’t concentrate and Leo swings between being convinced they’re gonna be assassinated if they push the envelope and pissed as hell, threatening to burn the whole place down if he doesn’t get answers. By the time 5 o’clock rolls around Isak is exhausted and ready to go crawl under the covers. He’s written at least 15 angry emails, deleted them and reworded them in a more coherent fashion that wouldn’t get him immediately canned.

Leo stomps out at five thirty, telling Isak he’ll see him tomorrow if one of them aren’t dead before then. _Bit dramatic that one,_ Isak can’t help but think. He stays a bit later to type out one more email that’s sure to return to sender undelivered.

In the elevator he presses the button for the ground floor and closes his eyes, leaning against the wall in exhaustion. His phone pings in his pocket, a reminder that he’s supposed to meet with Jonas at 19:20. He scrubs at his eyes, catches his reflection on the mirrored ceiling. He looks like a zombie.

“Killin it Isak,” he tells himself. The elevator pings and the doors open. He schleps out onto the street. It’s the cusp of winter and the weather has a strange electric current. Heavy grey clouds pass swiftly overhead. The wind kicks up piles of leaves into the air like they have a life of their own. Isak bats one away from his face. There’s a crisp smell permeating everywhere; something like wood burning fireplaces and cold gunmetal. Isak wonders if it might snow tonight. He pulls his threadbare coat closed and tucks his chin down. He has to hurry if he’s going to have time to go home and change before meeting Jonas.

* * *

“So let me get this straight,” Jonas says, squinting over his beer. “you’re involved in some sort of body snatcher conspiracy?”

“I’m in my third year,” Isak shakes his head and stares out over the water. The city lights are effervescent, shimmering like far off stars caught in an electric web. “I work in research,” his voice wobbles, and he clears his throat. “Nothing ever happens to me.”

“Well,” Jonas sighs, rubbing his eyes. He looks tired as hell and Isak wonders if he’s been sleeping with the new baby. Maybe the three of them could start a sleep exhaustion club. “Now something has.”

They sit for some long minutes in silence, listening to the live band warbling from inside the bar. Isak futzes with the napkin under his drink. Finally, he lets himself admit, “I don’t know what to do.”

Jonas purses his mouth, turns his wedding ring around on his finger a few times. The wind picks up and pushes his hair into his eyes and he tucks it behind his ears absently. “I guess you have two options,” he says in that slow musing way of his. “you can either do nothing, and let this, whatever it is, die. Or you can do something about it.”

“It’s three years of my life,” Isak whispers, “I can’t not do anything about it.” _Can I?_ he wonders.

Jonas nods like that’s what he was expecting. “Yea,” he nods. Then, “what did Leo say?”

“That some big pharm company probably has a hit man out on us as we speak. His husband’s a bigwig in the military though so he’s probably safe.” Isak laughs, but his chest feels tight. The wind rustles the trees around them like strange voices. “I can’t not do anything.” He says again. Jonas is silent beside him for some long minutes. Isak puts his hands by the outdoor heater to get some feeling back in his fingertips.

“I can’t tell you what to do with your life Iss,” Jonas says after a while. “But whatever you decide just…be careful.”

“God you sound just like Leo,” Isak rolls his eyes, pulling his hands away from the fire. “I don’t work for the fucking umbrella corporation.”

“No,” Jonas cuts in, “just the government.”

“Ugh,” he takes a drink of his beer and huffs in disgust. “True.”

* * *

  
Kailash gives him a dirty look when he comes home that night, beady eyes fierce from the linoleum tile.  
  
“What?” he asks her, sighing when she shoots off down the hallway with an angry yowl. Why he ever let Eva talk him into getting a cat he’ll never know. Something about how companionship is good for him. Sure, like being hissed at on the daily is healthy.

It’s hard to make his body sleep that night. He spends hours tossing and turning, the sheets constricting around his legs. He feels frustration welling up inside of him, but he can’t make his mind shut off.

When he finally succumbs, his dreams are strange things. Dark shapes in deep water, his mother’s voice shouting from across the field. The winter moors in the highlands, chasing after his mother through the barren trees. “Wait for me mommy!” he shouts, stumbling with his little legs face first into the dirt. The frost bites at his hands and he takes a moment to hold his breath against the tears rising in his throat.

“are you lost?” He looks up into the man’s face and can’t make out anything but his eyes. “here, let me help you, little one.”

_isak_ _,_ _isak_ _look_ _up at me now. don’t look back._

* * *

The next few weeks provide no relief but Isak tries to go on the best he can. He has a strange collage growing on the cork board in the living room. The printed out report he had meticulously screenshotted about 50 times before sending it to his email, the numbers 2121 written like some kind of maniac, a list of email addresses, the coroners name, his bosses name, his bosses bosses name. Isak wouldn’t be surprised if in a few days he’s tying string to thumbtacks and pulling his hair out in clumps.  
  


“Don’t judge me,” he tells Kailash before pressing the button on the coffee grinder. She grumbles at him and walks across the counter, pushing her head against his shoulder. Isak pets her under her chin and she purrs. His neighbor starts plucking at the piano and Isak finds himself humming along to the melody while he adds a couple of lumps of brown sugar into his coffee and takes it over to his sagging sofa. He pulls out his laptop and checks his email. Then, after 20 some minutes procrastinating, he opens up a word doc and begins to type:

Fem. 34/y/o. SSDNA, Somatic cell sample (NONC) : #2121 / 3.2240 /

Unusually long tails 5’-TTAGGG-3’ (!!!) Active telomerase. Replication did not seem to shorten. PCR application confirmed over 20k tails in initial sample.

Initial electrophoresis reads TERT presence in 95+% of somatic cell sample. (dysplastic) RNA seq 3’-CCCAAUCCC-5’ / DKC1

Hayflick limit does not seem to exist in vitro. Requested additional cell sample and they say they never heard of her: Initial sample # 2121

He sits back and rubs his hand over his mouth, heaves a sigh. His phone pings at him a reminder that he has a pediatric seminar tomorrow he has to finish a report for. Peds. Ugh. From the kitchen Kailash hisses at something.

“My thoughts exactly,” Isak commiserates.

* * *

“It’s not the same thing,” Isak shakes his head. “My mother is crazy.”  
  
“Why?” Eskild asks, taking a drag and holding the smoke inside. “Because she sees things that other people don’t believe in?” He blows the smoke out the window with a huff. “Because some stranger in a coat deemed her so?”  
  
Isak remembers: the sunlight blinding through the trees, the sound of their footsteps crushing the leaves as they ran, his heart in his throat like a trapped bird; fingers around his shoulders, isak isak stay here; Isak watch where you step; Isak. His father’s worn face when he told her his mother had left them again; how small she’d seemed against the hospital bed. They’d found her a week and a half later, wandering down the coastal highway, in a red ball gown, her feet raw and bloody. She kept saying she was dead.  
  
“She is.” Is all he can say. He moves to take a sip of his tea and realizes it’s gone tepid, goes to pour it down the sink. “You know she used to make me wear that iron bracelet?”

“you should go see her.” Eskild says quietly. “you might regret it later.”

“Why?” Isak puts the cup up on the drying rack. “She won’t recognize me.” _Of_ _course_ _I_ _miss_ _her_ _,_ _of_ _course_ _I_ _want_ _to_ _see_ _her_ _._ He stands at the counter, suddenly unsure of what to do. Eskild sighs and shuffles over, wraps his arms around him.

“I love you.” He says against his hair. Isak closes his eyes, presses his face against his shoulder. 

* * *

It’s a gloomy Thursday, the winter weather not quite cold enough for snow. It had rained overnight and on into the next day, casting the world into a dreamy haze. The city’s old sewer pipes gave up the ghost sometime in the grey hours of the morning causing flooding, deep puddles scattering the sidewalks, boots tredding through mud, blurred city streets through teary window panes; Monet. Isak rubs his eyes and squints, from his oasis of florescent lights, out the lab window. The aloe plant next to his monitor droops sadly. _When_ _was_ _the_ _last_ _time_ _I_ _smiled_ _,_ he wonders and presses his fingers to his pinched mouth.

Midterms had hit him like a solid hickory bat and he’d been having a harder time than usual tredding the waters of med school. The system really treated their students like dogs, it was a long arduous hazing process spanning years.

  
He clicks through the latest test results and shakes his head, opens up the inquiry on the crematorium schedule for 23/2 but there’s nothing. No history of cadaver disposal for that subject. He can’t say he’s surprised. This had been the last email he’d sent out and his complaint on file is listed as _complete._ Some asshole bureaucrat read his report and then filed it quietly away with all the others. The worst part is how sloppy it is, like they truly didn’t give a fuck. The schedule for 23/2 reads: #219, #220, #222, #223, seriously did they even try? Isak rolls his eyes.

How can someone be disappeared? She wasn’t a ghost, Isak had _seen_ her. He slams his hand down against the desk, part annoyance part bafflement, part fear. That minuscule inkling in the back of his mind, the paralyzing notion of _you_ _’_ _re_ _just_ _like_ _her_ \- but, but he hadn’t made it up; he had the test results, the lab print outs, data charts and quantitative graphs. Science. Pictures. Thank god. And so. There had to be a reasonable explanation.  
  
But all he can conclude is: this finding was discovered and her body was stolen - but how? And more disturbingly – _why?_ And what the hell can he do about it. Leo had decisively decided to keep himself out of it and Isak couldn’t really blame him. Maybe he should just let this go? Something rankled in his stomach at the thought.

  
No, that was why he had created the file after all- in the beginning. Born from some strange paranoia in the early winter light, he’d pulled out his laptop on his dilapidated couch and begun to type. He deserved to know the truth. For 2121 if nothing else. But how had 2121 died, if she was immortal?  
  
“How is this my life?” He wonders aloud. His phone pings from his pocket and he pulls it out. It’s a picture text from Jonas of Alba and Eva asleep in bed. The baby has one of Eva’s fingers in her mouth. It’s sickeningly adorable and Isak finds himself smiling for the first time in days. Under the picture is a missive to rescue him for dinner. _Any_ _time_ _this week_ Jonas says. Isak squints out the window at the passing traffic and misting sheets of rain before texting back:

What about sat? Seeing mama tomorrow after work.

Sounds good! Give her my best.

He catches his neighbor going into her apartment at the same time as him. Or rather, she catches him, Isak could go without saying hi to anyone on a good day.

“Hey Isak!” She says, chipper as always. She’s got a duffle bag thrown over her shoulder like she’s going somewhere. If Isak gave a little more of a fuck, he’d inquire. As it is, it takes a lot to keep him making small talk on almost a daily basis. “I haven’t seen you in a while, how’s med school going?”

“Oh soul sucking as always,” Isak replies, unlocking his apartment door. “I’ve been hearing you play more often -“

“Oh no!” her eyes widen and she makes a face that Isak can guess to mean discomfort. Or embarrassment. Or a mixture between the two. “I hope I haven’t been waking you up. I tend to keep odd hours.” She readjusts the strap of her bag.

“No it’s fine,” Isak assures. “Soothing.” He pushes the door open a crack, conscious of Kailash posed like a frozen black-haired demon in the entrance hall. “Anyway, it was nice seeing you. Talk to you later,”

“You too Isak,” Sonja smiles from the hallway as he closes the door on her. In the hallway of his cramped apartment he takes a minute to heave a sigh, unwrapping his scarf from his neck and toing off his boots. He shuffles into the kitchen where Kailash is looking at him expectantly.

“Ugh,” he says, squatting down to pet her.

* * *

“She has her moments of lucidity,” the nurse (her name tag reads Emilia with a cheerful smiley face) chirps, “she enjoys reading. Last weekend when it was more mild, she took a nice walk outside.”

“Outside?” Isak asks, shocked despite himself. Except for a time when he was very small, his mother had always been severely agoraphobic. He remembers trying to take her for walks, her hands cutting off the circulation in his fingers, her dragging herself away from him at the foot of the driveway, screaming like he was the devil. He shakes himself out of the memory.

“Mmhm,” Emilia is nodding, her blond curls a frizzy halo around her face. She leads the way down the bright hall towards his mother’s living quarters. “She seemed to enjoy herself. Ah, here we are.” She pulls the door open and waves Isak through with a “Marianne you have a visitor! Go on honey,” She smiles encouragingly, brown eyes kind. Isak nods and thanks her, forces his fists to relax at his sides and steps into the room.

His mother is sitting in the bay window, book opened up on her lap. She turns as Isak enters and a smile lights up her face.

“Hello!” She greets, friendly enough. Her hair is up in a neat bun today. As Isak gets closer he can see her eyes are a bit glassy.

“Hey,” He says, moving to sit next to her. “Sorry I haven’t been here in a while.”

“It’s okay,” She smiles at him, “have you read this book?” She shows him the title _anne of green gables_.

“Yes,” he nods. He has the whole series, spines cracked and folded pages above his bed on a little shelf. His grandmother’s a life time ago or more. One of the few things remaining.

“It’s one of my favorites,” She turns a few pages. A few pages more. He lets her continue flipping until he absolutely can’t stand it anymore.

“Hey,” he folds her hands gently in his own to stop her picking. “Have you been sleeping alright?”  
  
“I’ve slept for a lifetime,” her voice is soft as falling snow, “I don’t want to sleep any longer.” She turns to look at him with big soft eyes. He can see his reflection in her irises. “Young man,” she says after a moment, “can you bring my son to me? They said he’d be visiting me today but he’s so young I don’t want him to get lost on the way here.”

Isak swallows the lump in his throat. “of course,” he says quietly, standing up. His legs feel weak as a new born colt’s. “I’ll go get him.”

In the hallway he manages a softly spoken conversation with Emilia, although he can’t remember what he says. The next thing he remembers is walking hurriedly down the drive, shoulders hunched up, gravel grinding under his feet. At the end of the block he makes himself stop, makes himself look back at Gaustad Hospital for an agonizing moment. Then lets himself shove his hands into the pockets of his coat and turn away.

* * *

He finds an envelope slipped under his door, his name written in fancy calligraphy. It’s from Sonja, she’s making good on her threat of friendliness then. An invite to a winter party set the following Saturday. Isak sighs but goes to put it under a magnet on the fridge. No way he can get out of it but maybe he can get Eva to come to it with him. Jonas is out of town visiting his parents with Alba; Eva had had parent teacher conferences so she couldn’t go – it was a major point of contention that Isak had accidentally stumbled on like one does a well buried land mine. He’d let her rant for some minutes before heavy handedly changing the subject to his (lack) of social life which always got Eva going.

He asks her to go to the party when he’s over at their flat for Sunday Spaghetti (they don’t always have spaghetti but they always call it that, don’t ask). Eva turns from the pot of marinara sauce on the stove and looks at him with surprise, wooden spoon raised. She’s basically out of breath from bitching about the school system. “A party?” she squints like she knows he’s trying to desperately change the subject. “who are you and what have you done with Isak?”

“Har har,” Isak rolls his eyes, goes to sit on one of their counter stools. “She’s my neighbor, I can’t avoid her.”

“Your serious?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Isak this is gonna be great!” She motions him over to try the sauce, pursing her lips to cool it off. It’s delicious, tangy and just spicy enough to make Isak crave more. He hums his approval, meandering back to the island. He has a raging headache from lack of sleep and he pushes his palms into his eyeballs hoping the pressure will crush them like little grape balls.

Eva comes to sit next to him, quietly. She doesn’t ask if he’s ok, and for that he’s beyond grateful. He lets her presence wash over him like a warm tide, him the intrepid explorer learning to breathe.

“you don’t have to go,” Eva says after a while, voice soft.

“I know,” Isak lies. “you’re right, it could be fun.”

* * *

Newsflash: the party isn’t fun.

Isak gets home from school that day 45 minutes late. Eva is waiting for him outside his apartment with an unimpressed look.

“Sorry sorry,” he gasps, out of breath from jogging back from the tram stop.

“You couldn’t have texted?” Eva crosses her arms. She’s got a cute knit scarf wrapped around her neck nearly up to her red nose.

“Forgot to charge my phone last night and it died during lunch,” Isak holds up his dead phone as proof.

Eva glares at him for a minute longer before sighing. “Ugh, it’s a good thing you’re cute.”

“you know it,” Isak winks at her and keys them into the building. The entryway is narrow and dimly lit; flickering lights adding an air of menace. “I just need to change out of my scrubs then we can head over.” He glances at the bottle of wine in her hand. “Eva you didn’t have to bring that.”

“No way am I drinking any of your pretentious microbrews,” She raises an eyebrow at him in disdain and he rolls his eyes.

The party when they get there, is in full swing. One of the few perks of showing up late (the other being most people are already engaged in conversation, thus sparing you the inane talk that comes with strangers you don’t know but are forced to interact with because of society’s dictations). Isak and Eva roll in and no one looks up except for Sonja who rushes over with flushed cheeks.

“You made it!” She exclaims, like Isak is some long coveted celebrity. She’s too friendly for his tastes.

“Er,” he says eloquently, “Yea. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Of course,” She assures, glancing over to Eva with a smile. “Is this your girlfriend?”

Eva coughs out a laugh and Isak rolls his eyes, “No, no just a friend.”

“Eva,” Eva holds up her bottle of wine. “I brought refreshments.”

“Ohh love that brand,” Sonja says squinting at the label. “Go on through to the kitchen and make yourselves at home!” She glances away as someone calls her name and raises her hand in acknowledgment “I’ll find you in a bit and we can catch up, yea?” She says to Isak.

“Sure,” Isak isn’t sure what they have to catch up with but he doesn’t care enough to question it.

He follows Eva into the little kitchen that is in the same layout of Isak’s apartment. She grabs two glasses from the cabinet and pours them a healthy portion of wine. They wander their way out into the living room and end up separated organically, drifting. Eva towards the center of the noise; Isak to the outskirts. He’s leaning comfortably by a bookshelf that seems to be jammed packed with old ass books he’s never heard of – who reads Latin unironically??- when he has a sudden distinctive feeling of being observed. He looks over his shoulder slowly and his stomach swoops. _Oh,_

“I thought you looked familiar,” The guy from the trail is somehow, inexplicably, standing there with a drink in his hand. “But I wasn’t sure.”

“Uh. Um.” Isak says, like the smooth mother fucker he is. The guys eyes squish up into half moons as he smiles.

“Sorry if I’m being creepy,” he laughs, sheepish. “but I don’t know anyone here and you looked friendly.”

“Friendly?” Isak can’t help it, it’s just too absurd. “I don’t think anyone’s ever accused me of that before.”

“No?” The guy seems surprised. “You must be at least somewhat friendly to get an invite, or did you just wander in off the street like I did?”

“Ah,” Isak is about 90% sure that was a joke. The guy gives him a squinty wink. Ok 97% sure. “You caught me.”

The guy laughs, takes a sip of his beer. “Well then us two vagabonds should stick together.”

Isak find himself smiling, can’t help it, this guy’s mannerisms are infectious. “Sure,” He clutches his glass in his hand. “makes sense.”

* * *

Even, his name is Even, works for a marketing firm and has known Sonja for years.  
  


“I thought you didn’t know anyone at this party,” Isak cuts in, raising his eyebrows.

“She’s the only one, I promise.”

“Uh huh.”

Even puts a hand over his heart. “Don’t you believe me?” After a moment they both laugh.

The two of them have meandered to another corner of the room, talking about this and that. Even has a propensity for quoting eccentric movies Isak has never heard of. Like now:

“Have you ever seen the movie ‘stairway to heaven?’ or,” He tilts his head cheerfully, “I think it’s called ‘a matter of life and death’ now.”

Isak frowns, shakes his head. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of it.” He frantically repeats the name of the movie over and over again in his head, committing it to memory.

“It’s pretty old,” Even smiles. “you should watch it sometime.”

Isak hesitates, everything inside of him wanting to agree but – “how old?”

Even laughs, shakes his head. “I don’t know. 1940s maybe?”

“So…it’s in black and white?”

“Yes Isak,” Even squints at him. “It’s in black and white.”

“How exciting,” Isak can’t help but quip, smiling as Even laughs. He’s down to the bottom of his third glass now. He knows he should leave, his 6 am tomorrow looms ever closer.

Even must notice his increasing glances at his watch because he says in what Isak is beginning to realize is that easy way of his, “hey can I have your number?” like it’s nothing.

“Uh. Um.” Isak hates himself. Recovers. “Yea, sure.” Watches as Even types out his number on his phone with his ridiculously long fingers. His stomach flutters.

* * *

The problem is Even is too nice and it’s driving Isak slowly insane. Even fits into Isak’s busy life like a puzzle piece slotting into place, or some other such cliché’d saying. Isak meets him for coffee after he gets out of the lab, meets him for walks on the weekends, texts him in the insomniatic hours of the night. It’s weird. It’s weird how easy it is. Like a piece that Isak had left behind unknowingly, until he’d stumbled on it again.

“You two are soulmates,” Eva says, over Sunday Spaghetti. Jonas laughs and Isak rolls his eyes, blushing.

“No such thing,” He says. “Anyway, pretty sure Even is straight.”

“Isak,” Eva puts her hands on her hips. “No straight boy would have looked at you the way he was lookin’ at you at that party.”

“Oh really?” Jonas raises his eyebrows at him.

“No, nope, no. I’m not doing this.” Isak covers his ears. “I refuse.” His voice echoes strangely. Eva and Jonas’ laughter is muffled.

Still, the notion plants like a seed in his mind. He’s pretty sure Even is just one of those _friendly_ people. Still. Still.

* * *

Wednesday and they’ve wandered from the park to Isak’s little apartment. He’s poured them up some coffee and been talking Even’s ear off about his research. Kailash had made herself known briefly, scritching her side against Even’s pant leg before running off with a yowl. Isak follows her to make sure she’s not planning on tearing up his pillow again (she’s not, she’s under the bed, hissing) and by the time he comes back to the living room Even’s moved to stare at the charts pinned to the cork board, standing very still.

“Ah, that’s just my research project,” Isak shuffles over. He’s got month’s worth of papers pinned to the wall; charts on top of charts, little lines mapped out as meticulous as a spiders web. The ever expanding labyrinth of his life, and him somewhere amidst it, a land bird far out at sea.

“What are you researching?” Even asks, brow furrowed like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. _Good luck,_ Isak thinks good naturedly.

“Immortality,” he smirks and then shrugs when Even’s eyebrows shoot up. “Eh, kind of.”

“Kind of immortal?” Even laughs, “isn’t that just mortal?”

“He jokes,” Isak deadpans, moving away from the cork board and towards his window seat.

“Really though, what is it?”

“I’m trying to think of the best way to explain,” Isak tilts his head back, contemplating about how much detail he can go into before Even’s brain goes numb with boredom; it’s a balance beam he’s had to walk his whole life. He loves talking about his work but he knows everyone outside of his immediate field must find it dry as dirt.  
  
“So DNA,” he starts slowly, “it can’t just replicate wham bam. The enzymes that synthesize it have to know where to attach, and they attach by recognizing a sort of tag. The problem is that this tag...uh...called a primer...it takes up space on the DNA strand like…” he scratches the back of his head, keenly aware that Even is now staring at him. “Like when you put your finger on a map to point to someone, oh here is the spot but they can’t see the spot cause your finger is on it? Shitty example but it’s something like that. So you’d think oh shit, this primer tag blocks the enzyme from reading this bit of DNA, it can’t replicate it! So every time DNA is replicated it would get shorter and shorter yes? Cause it needs a primer to show it where to bind every time, but it looses that bit of DNA, you follow?”  
  
“I think so,” Even says slowly, moves over to sit at the window seat with him, pulls his knees up. “But wouldn’t that...I don’t know...Kill you? Don’t cells replicate constantly?”  
  
“Pretty much,” Isak agrees. “But life, as Ian Malcolm likes to say, life will find a way.”  
  
Even laughs, his eyes squinching up. “Oh yea?”  
  
“There’s these bits of extra DNA called telomeres that are on the ends of strands. Basically, the longer the telomere the longer your life because the primer can bind to bits of it instead. Of course it still shortens inevitably. We’re trying to synthesize them in my lab. We take, we take cadaver samples and experiment with stem cells,” Isak waves his hand, “it’s all very boring. Anyway, every DNA sample we get looks essentially the same, except 2121.” He sighs, frustrated as ever with 2121.

“What’s different about 2121?” Even’s voice is quiet, his gaze steady on Isak.

“Her telomeres,” Isak gazes back. “They’re unlike anything I’ve ever seen. By all accounts 2121 should be immortal, but instead she was a cadaver sample. And that’s not even the strangest thing-“ he cuts himself off and shakes his head, suddenly unsure and acutely aware of how long he’s been rambling on. “But we lost the tissue sample. And we can’t get another one.”

“So what does that mean?”

“It means 2121 is a ghost.” Isak stands, abruptly realizing how close they’d been sitting to one another. Even’s got that unreadable look on his face; his eyes are deep, his lush mouth pressed together.

“Do you believe in ghosts Isak?” Even asks quietly.

“Doesn’t everyone, in one way or another?” Isak jokes weakly. 

Finally Even looks away, squints out the big window. The branches on the tree outside rustles in the wind. “I don’t know.” He says after a moment. 

* * *

Strange shapes, strange dreams. The sound the leaves make when the rain touches them, wet.

Wind passing through the wings of countless forest starlings, thunderous and heart stopping. Loud like clapping, the pattering of footsteps quickly fading. Amazing that they can pass through the narrowness of the trees. Layers and layers of leaves; an endless canopy, skinned knees, him smiling at me; what have I built inside myself, he leans over and digs his elbows into his thighs, breathless in the still woods.

This is me, this is my achievements. What am I but the work I have done? He gazes up and his cork board and sees his father standing in the kitchen holding that glass of bourbon up in front of the bay window, against the light. The way he always loved to do that, that pretentious fuck, can see the way he shakes his head. _Isak_ the way he says his name like he’s saying _sorry_. Sorry for what? Isak had shouted the last time he saw him, all those years ago in the darkened hallway of their broken home. For leaving us, for leaving _me_? Fuck you - fuck you! Sorry sorry sorry, you’re the last one left now Isak.

Can I let this go by? What is he to my life? The iron cuff around his wrist burns, so he turns and turns it. He remembers his mother showing him the railroad spikes stabbed into a circle around their house. Remembers the unease, the metallic fear rising rank in the back of his throat. _Don’t take it off Isak_. _Look up, look up at me_.

He wakes, drenched in sweat. Wrist burning. At times like this, Isak believes.

* * *

He looks at himself through squinty, sleep heavy eyes. His hair is a messy halo of curls around his head. He looks like he stuck a finger in a light socket. He grumbles at Kailash, shooing her out of the old clawfoot tub and turns on the tap. He’s scrubbing through his hair, angrily when he decides enough is enough.

The next day he waits until Leo leaves for the night before heading down to sublevel 4. Sublevel sounds like some apocalyptic video game. Jesus what is his life. The filing room is unlocked because no one gives a fuck about protocol in his school and it’s almost suspiciously easy to count through the numbers. 2019, 2020, 2121. She’s there, a piece of paper in Isak’s shaky hand. Proof positive he’s not crazy. He takes a second to heave out a breath before skimming the page looking for it and there it is, suddenly like a gift. Place of death: Bergen.

* * *

“Hey uh, you still seeing that guy? The computer one?” Isak can’t small talk worth shit. Luckily Iris tends to find it amusing more than anything.

“Ari?” She says. “Yea. Turns out I’m really into domming.”

“Uh…cool.” Isak presses on quickly. “Hey what does he know about,” He lowers his voice, “hacking?”

Iris laughs. “Uh…I have no idea? A bit maybe? Isn’t it like a requirement in the computer field?”

“Is it?” Isak asks seriously.

“Why, do you need him to bust into a mainframe for you?” She’s clearly joking but at his delay in response she makes a fish face. “I mean. He hates the establishment enough he’d probably do it.”

“Really?” Isak says before he can stop himself.

“How soon do you wanna do this?” she says easily, running her tongue over her teeth.

“Um,” Isak shrugs. She squints at him, amused.

“Free tomorrow night?” She quips. All at once, Isak is confused why he never bothered to be better friends with her. This happens occasionally in his life.

* * *

  
  


**(Even: 19:20)** I just bought bicycle thieves, wanna come over and watch it?

as fun as THAT sounds

**(Even: 19:23):** haha :P

but seriously

I’m actually headed out of town for a few days. Work stuff.

**(Even: 19:27):** Sounds tantalizingly mysterious!

Oh you know me, I’m the master of mystery

**(Even: 19:27):** Is THAT what they say?

:P I’ll be back in a few days and

we can watch it then

**(Even: 19:31):** I’m holding you to that :)

* * *

yo…I need you to watch my cat for a few days.

**(Jonas: 20:34):** yo…sure. When?

Um. Tomorrow until Sunday?

**(Jonas: 20:45):** Ugh.

Please?

**(Jonas: 20:48):** wow a please. I’m shook. Did someone die?

Jonas!!

**(Jonas: 20:48):** lol I’m just fucking with you. Yea we can watch the demon no problem. Drop her off but I require an in person explanation.

K I’ll be by tomorrow after work. Thanks.

**(Jonas: 20:49):** NP bro.

* * *

Bergen is a beautiful city. Isak has been once before when he was younger with his mother and father. He remembers wandering he narrow stone streets, looking at the painted houses. Remembers following a tabby cat down an alley. Remembers circling the lake, laughing and holding his mother’s hand.

Haukeland University Hospital is a short drive from the city center. They’re surprisingly friendly when Isak says he’s thinking about doing a residency there. He wanders the levels, casual, until he finds what he’s looking for.

“Thank you Ari,” he says to himself. And then he sits there, stumped. The file is there, but it makes no sense. Helena. It says. No last name. No DOB. Ironically, an Oslo address Isak is unfamiliar with. He writes it down on a sticky note. Disheartened.

_In inceptum finis est,_ he thinks, bitter.

* * *

The weather changes; the days get shorter, the darkness longer. Isak finds himself settling into a pattern: school-work-friends, rinse and repeat. Eva and Jonas buckle down, seemingly going into hibernation mode. It’s okay though because there’s Even. Even to drag him out on long freezing walks along the water. Even to make him try strange fish dishes at the market. Even who makes him watch the most boring movies known to mankind.

“Why do you like this stuff so much?” Isak can’t help but ask. They’ve just finished yet another black and white movie.

“The better question is how can you not?” Even asks, munching on his bowl of popcorn.

“The pacing is so slow,” Isak groans, moving to close out the screen on his computer.

“It’s original writing,” Even shrugs. “It’s sad how you millennials can only stomach instant gratification.”

“You millennials? What are you a million years old?” Isak rolls his eyes, scrolling through Netflix. “Can I help it if I like explosions?”

Even laughs. Throws a popcorn piece at Isaks who squawks out a “I just vacuumed!”

“When Isak? At the beginning of the stone age?”

It devolves from there.

* * *

And so time passes to midwinter. Isak is forced to admit to himself his Sherlock Holmes phase has hit somewhat of a dead end. It’s a bitter pill to swallow but he does it, packs up his crazy string net into a box and puts it in his closet. 2121 becomes something Leo and he bring up occasionally, when they’re bickering about the corrupt establishment.

It’s snowed the last four days straight when Even convinces him to go on a walk.

“Snow walk,” he says like that’s a thing that deserves differentiation.

“ughhh,” Isak answers.

They ramble through the park, build two very lumpy looking snowmen. Even runs into a KB and uses his discount (I used to work there when I was in university) to buy them two coffees. The sun is just beginning to set and Isak is freezing his ass off when he looks over and catches Even watching him through the snow. The world is quiet.

“What?” he asks, self conscious and abruptly aware of how close they are standing. The snow falls around the like a shroud. _Now, now,_ Isak thinks at Even. _Please._

“Nothing,” Even says quietly. He’s looking at Isak through the falling snow, blue eyes electric in the night. Then he’s reaching his hand up slow, slow, touching Isak’s hair, his chin. Then he’s leaning down and pressing his mouth to Isak’s for a moment. The world is soft, soft like the throb of Isak’s heart in his ears, soft like Even’s “is this ok?” whispered against this lips.

“Yes,” Isak wraps his arms around Even’s neck, pushes himself onto his toes and kisses him. _Yes yes yes._

They shed their clothes in the small entryway of Isak’s apartment, in the faint light coming from the kitchen plant lamp. Isak pants into Even’s neck as Even runs his hands down his back. Even pulls him against his body and slots their mouths together, hungrily. Isak can’t catch his breath, runs his fingers through Even’s hair and holds on. Even groans into his mouth, moving them down the hall like some strange shuffling four legged creature.

They fall into the bed with a gasp of laughter, pulling away, pushing back together. Even makes his way torturously slow down Isak’s body, nuzzling at the spot where his leg meets his groin, moving over his hard cock and lower, between his legs.

“God,” Isak grits out, tilting his head back as Even pulls his legs over his shoulders, opening his mouth against him and pressing in with his tongue. His fingers follow, sparking against that place deep inside that Isak can only reach sometimes if he’s lucky and the angle is just right. Isak claws at Even’s shoulders, “Please, please,” he gasps. It seems to be the only word he knows now; Even his only language. Even moves back up, taking his mouth, Isak flushes hot at the musky taste between them.

“Is this ok?” Even asks, pressing against him, dick heavy and wet.

“Yes, Even yes.” Isak hooks his legs tighter, arches his hips. Even laughs against his neck and reaches down and oh there it is. He presses in in, until he’s flush against Isak, in to the root of him. Isak gasps like a fish on a hook, god it feels so _so_ good. They move together in Isak’s little bed, sweat slicking their chests and making Isak’s legs slip. Even hitches one up under his arm but doesn’t stop the movement of his hips. Isak’s breath catches in his throat, lights behind his eyes, electricity sparking throughout his body as Even fucks into him in frenetic jerky movements like he’s trying to go slow but can’t stop himself.

“You feel so good,” he says, kissing the side of Isak’s neck. Gasping out, “your ass is so sweet.”

Isak’s toes curl and he pushes back, bliss rolling over his mind. He feels hot, like he’s burning up everywhere their skin touches. He doesn’t ever want it to stop. With every push, Even is making a place for himself inside of him.

“Even, Even,” He pulls Even’s hair, brings him to his mouth. He can feel it cresting up inside of him, “yes, yes”, he pushes back mindless, spurting up his chest.

“Isak,” Even pushes in, in, in and grinds in circles and Isak can feel the kick of his cock inside of him, knows he’s coming. They lay together panting in the half dark, mouths barely touching. Isak’s skin feels electric, his heart is racing. If this is a fever dream he doesn’t ever want to wake up, mesmerized by the slow slow movement of Even’s fingers trailing up and down his arm. Isak turns and tucks his head against Even’s chest, breaths out. Happy.

* * *

Surprisingly little changes after that, except Even comes with Isak to Sunday Spaghetti. Alba, who is usually wary of strangers _loves_ Even and the feeling is mutual. Isak finds himself daydreaming about tow headed babies more often then he’d like to admit on the tram home from school.

“Soooo, when’s the wedding,” Eva drawls next to him. They’re watching Jonas and Even coax Alba into toddling across the room. It’s funny watching two grown men squat and make faces at a baby.

“Jesus Eva we just started dating like a month ago.” Isak feels himself blush.

“Uhhuh,” Eva drinks a gulp of wine and looks at him knowingly. “Didn’t I say it? Soulmate.”

“I hate you,” Isak rolls his eyes.

“Oh my god Isak look she’s walking!” Even calls to him from the living room. Isak looks over in time to see Alba wobbling her way toward Jonas. Even grins over at Isak. “She’s so cute.”

“Hmm.” Isak can’t help but smile back.

* * *

It’s the beginning of spring before Isak goes to see his mother again. Emelia had called him, her voice soft saying that she seemed to be getting worse.

“Am I terrible for not wanting to go?” Isak whispers it against Even’s chest, the night before. They’re tucked together under the sheets.

“No,” Even says after a moment, rubbing gently at his back. “It hurts to see someone you love like that.”

“I have to go,” Isak says, half trying to convince himself. Even says nothing, just continues to run his hand soothingly across his shoulders.

The next day he sits down across from his mother, who is gazing out the window. She seems tired and nothing he says can make her look over at him. Isak finally sighs and whispers a _bye mama_ before leaving the room. He berates himself silently. If he had bothered to visit earlier would she have been better? No, she’s been like this forever. Well what the hell does he know anyway? It goes on and on in a frustrating circle of self castigation eventually leading him to bid Emelia goodbye and stomp down the gravel drive to the tram stop.

He gets off at the station further from his place and takes his time walking home, pausing to look out over the harbor at the lights in the distance. He blinks, rubs his eyes, and looks again but the lights have gone dark. Whatever it was, faded away. _Isak_ _,_ he thinks to himself, shivering in his light jacket: _Isak_ _,_ _it_ _’_ _s_ _time_ _to_ _go_ _home_ _._

* * *

In April, Even asks Isak to move in with him.

“My lease is up for renewal soon,” he shrugs like it’s no big deal. Like he didn’t just shift the earth under Isak’s feet.

“Uh…” _yes yes yes_ is the first thing that zips through his mind. _Isn’t it a bit fast?_ is the cynical second. Even watches him from across the table, that little smile tucking up the corner of his generous mouth. God, everything about Even was just so generous, it hurts Isak to look at him sometimes. “I want to, but isn’t it a little soon?” They’ve only been dating a couple of months.

Even smiles. “Maybe,” he says. “but it’s only time.” Like that means anything. Then he sighs, and makes that earnest face of his, with the scrunched up brows and big eyes. “Isak, no pressure okay? It was just an idea.”

_Fuck it,_ Isak thinks. “Fuck it.” He says aloud. “Let’s do it.”

* * *

Even’s company sends him out of town for a few days for an annual retreat. He gives Isak his apartment key before he goes and presses a kiss against his mouth. Makes him promise to wait on bringing over the big pieces of furniture until he’s back to help. It’s only a week.

He takes a couple of boxes to Even’s after he gets out of the lab. The sky is darkening with a fierce early spring storm so he hurries, sweat breaking out on his brow. He’s just closing up the car he’s borrowed from Eva and Jonas when he looks up and sees her. It strikes him as odd - not that he’s seeing Sonja after so long, but that she’s inexplicably across town at Even’s apartment complex and not in the hallway outside of his place.

She’s standing by a car down the street and staring, quite obviously, at him. It’s almost like she’d been waiting for him to notice her. A strange feeling sweeps through him as she makes her way down the street. The sky has begun to open up, and cold rain drops fall intermittedly down. Isak hopes this’ll be a fast talk. He raises his hand as she nears him.

“Hey Sonja-“

“Isak,” She cuts him off, frowning. “I can’t believe it.”

“What?” He looks behind him, like someone will be standing there with a ‘gotcha!’ sign. Looks back. “What are you talking about?”

Bizzarly, Sonja laughs. In the light of the storm, her face is oddly angulated, teeth sharp. “I can’t believe it,” she says again. “what a sick fuck.”

“Okay,” Isak is quite frankly tired of pretending to be cordial, and tired of getting rained on. “Sonja. Good to see you. Err, or whatever? Look I gotta go.” He goes to pull the car door open.

“Isak!” 

He looks back. She’s standing under the street lamp, practically vibrating. He can almost see the sparks flying from her eyes.

“Don’t you understand? He doesn’t love you. He can’t. You foolish boy,” And now her voice sounds mournful, like a strange dirge in a long forgotten language. “Don’t you know it’s just a game to him? Don’t you know?”

But Isak doesn’t know anything. Or rather, what he thought he knew now seems as transient as the rain that beings to fall harder, thudding against the asphalt. He sees Sonja standing there and knows with a strange clarity how she must hate him. Thinks of Even and the shadow of his body in the grey morning. The soft shape of him against the sheets. He remembers thinking _this is a dream_ or _is this a dream_ as he ran a shaky hand through Even’s soft hair.

He watches numbly as Sonja gets into her car in the flickering streetligh. He stands there, he doesn’t know for how long, listening to the sound the rain makes against the pavement, the way it rustles its way through the leaves making the trees speak.

Then he pulls open the creaky car door and sits there, palming the steering wheel. Fog rises up, turning the buildings into strange shapes; monoliths cresting like whales in the sea. Isak begins to drive like through the rain, his mind casting a net for some elusive answer, the _why_ _why_ _why_ echoing like a starving thing forgotten in a well.

He doesn’t want to believe. He doesn’t believe. He thinks about meeting Even. He thinks about the knowing of him. The years of living next door to Sonja and never seeing him. Like he was some ghost, wandering the halls of her life. He thinks of 2121. The dusty sticky note jammed into his winter coat pocket, forgotten. Of an old Oslo address. He doesn’t know what he thinks.

He strips in his pathetic little hallway, leaves his wet clothes in a lump on the floor, then he’s crawling between his sheets, shivering in the dark. His mind synapsing at dead ends. He thinks about the morning he met Even, slamming into him and spilling coffee, he thinks about how big his hands felt when he hugged him; how safe, how familiar his smell is. He thinks and he thinks in circles until his head throbs and his eyes ache. He feels like an empty seashell scraped upon by the ocean tide, the thing that was living inside eaten away.

* * *

_Look_ _up_ _,_ the voice muffled through the fog but somehow Isak can hear, clear as a bell. And wasn’t it always that way? _Look_ _up_. He looks up -

* * *

An old man answers the door. Somehow this is both surprising and not.

“Hello,” Isak says.

“Hello.” The old man says back. He’s got on a pair of thick spectacles and a truly horrifying mustard yellow shirt. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so,” Probably not. “I’m looking for a woman who used to live here. Her name was Helena?”

The old man shakes his head. “No, I never met her. You know her?”

“Yes?” It’s an odd question. _Intimately_ , Isak wants to answer. “Why?”

“I have a box I found in the attic that must belong to her. HN initials. Hold on.” The guy has the gall to close the door in Isak’s face. He rolls his eyes and goes to sit on the front stoop. His phone vibrates. It’s a text picture from Even: a selfie of him holding up a coffee.

_Almost as good as yours ;P_ it reads. Abruptly the flood of feelings come back and Isak shoves his phone back in his pocket. He scrubs his hands over his eyes and tries to clear his mind. Whatever the fuck is going on with Even, it’ll just have to wait until he gets back.

The front door creaks open and he jumps up.

“Here,” Old man hands Isak a worn looking banker’s box.

“Thanks.” It’s oddly light. Isak tucks it under his arm.

“Of course.” The man goes to close the door. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

_Me too,_ Isak thinks.

He goes back to the car, opens the door and sits inside. Puts the box in the passenger seat and looks at it for a moment. Opens it with shaky hands. It _is_ almost empty but for a few old books in Latin of all languages. Was Helena a classics major? He flips through one of the books by some dude named Marcus Aurelius and something flutters out from between the pages onto his lap. It’s a business card.

Somehow he knows before he even turns it over, it’ll be Even’s name on the other side.

* * *

It’s strange in the end. Isak suddenly knows somehow. Knows exactly where to look.

* * *

It’s easy to sneak onto the ferry without paying; almost too easy. He stands and leans over the side and closes his eyes against the unforgiving wind. Maybe he looks untouchable and that’s why no one ever approaches; maybe he’s become that specter he so feared of as a child; a shadow in the light of his parents arguments; crouched against the wall, hope and fear fluttering like two birds in his chest.

He wanders through the birches, and looks at the spaces between the trees. They’re still hollowed out from winter time, scrawny with sleep beneath the melting snow. He walks and he walks, listening to the gravel crunch beneath his feet. He pulls out his phone and watches the compass spin around and around. The sun passes from beneath a cloud, lighting up the narrow path. He looks up again, when he hears the flutter of birds wings.

“Even!” He shouts. “Even I know.” _Look up, look up_ His voice echoes oddly through the trees. He stands there for a moment, panting.

“What are you doing here Isak?” He turns and there’s Even standing at the bend in the road, limned in the morning light. His hair looks molten gold, his eyes solemn.

_This_ _isn_ _’_ _t_ _a_ _fairytale_ _,_ Isak tells himself. Even standing amongst the trees. He looks like a metaphor for immortal life; the youth a god would kill for. Ambrosia eyes, the universe trapped in the curve of his mouth. He looks like every warning from his mother about strangers you run into after dark.

Isak’s phone feels clammy in his hand. “I came to tell you I know.”

“I didn’t mean to,” and now Even’s eyes are huge. Isak can see his face scrunching up but he doesn’t understand until he realizes Even is trying not to cry; his fists are shaking at his sides with the effort of holding himself back. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Didn’t mean to what?” Isak croaks out. His own hands are pushed deep into his pockets. His mind keeps jumping to sharp conclusions, then shying away from them.

“To – “ Even shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter – just.”

“To _what_ , Even?” Months of this, he wants to say, _just_ _tell_ _me_ _,_ _please_ _?_ But Even doesn’t say anything, just stands there with his mouth pinched shut, eyes shadowed. His hands have fallen to his sides.

“Oh fuck you,” Isak bites out, trying to ignore the way his heart has leapt into his throat. “God, you can’t even say it can you-“

“Isak, I want to protect you-“

“No Even,” Isak says, tired suddenly like the wind has come out of his sails. He slumps, rubs his face. “You want to protect _you_.”

Even looks at him for a moment. Looks away. Looks back. “Please let me explain.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Isak shakes his head, sick to his stomach. He has to get out of here. What had he been thinking?

“How much do you remember about that day?” Even calls after him. “That day in the woods with your mother?”

“What are you?” Isak bites out. They’re standing together watching the snow fall around them like a shroud. A spring snow. How strange. “And don’t fuck with me, you know what I’m asking.”

“Isak,” Even looks mournful, “you already know.”

  
“My mother...” Isak trails off, sick.

  
  
“She stumbled through,” Even’s voice is soft, he bites his lip. “I can always tell...the people who fall through. They usually don’t come back the same.”

  
  
“Usually?”

  
  
“Well,” Even’s looking at him with that way of his. “Then there’s you.”

Isak heaves a shaky sigh, looks down at his feet. Draws a slow line through the snow with his left foot. “How did you know?” He asks after a while, mind flashing to strange tall buildings, the glass spires glinting off a foreign sun; flame lined hallways and bright birch woods; swimming in a pool of water so clear you could see through to the other end of the world. When he glances up again his breath catches at the look in Even’s eyes.

“Because I led you out,” Even says softly, mouth pinched at the corners. He admits it bleakly. Isak feels the denial rise like a balloon in his throat, tears flooding his eyes abruptly. He has to consciously slow his breathing.

“You,” he says because of course it was Even, _of_ _course_. He thinks about the warm big hand holding his, running through the snow blindly, cold all over except for his fingers. The tunnel of barren trees, blue eyes in the face of a tall, tall man, _isak_ _,_ _isak_ _look_ _up at me now. don’t look back._

He doesn’t say _how_ _could_ _you_ _have_ _left_ _my_ _mother_ _,_ but his face twists up and Even must see it in his eyes.

“I could barely get you out Isak,” he rasps out, “I could barely get you.”

“What do you want from me?”

Even’s hands fall to his sides. “I…I want whatever you will give me.”

“Whatever I can give you?” Isak bites out a laugh, “you have some fucking nerve.” Then. “Can you bring her mind back?” He doesn’t say, _I’ll forgive you if you can,_ bites his mouth, because after everything at least one of them has to know what’s fair.

“I don’t know,” Even says after a moment. He’s looking out past Isak down the forest path. Dusk is upon them, the falling snow casting eerie shadows in the quickening night. “She’s been out a long time…but…I can try.”

* * *

He walks aimlessly through the streets on his way home. The city is deserted at this hour, the streetlights reflecting off the cobblestone and brick, the houses strange creatures rising out of a misty fog. He feels unmoored, somehow safe in his solitude, the only living boy in the world. His footsteps grit against the rock, and he breathes deep into his chest and wonders about Helena. In the midst of it all, he’d quite forgotten to ask Even about her.

The wind rises around him, and he closes his eyes for a moment, dizzy. He’s so tired, the world seems soft, painted in an unfamiliar shade, like the wrong side of a spoon; the world through a looking glass.  
  
He has a leftover plate from Sunday Spaghetti. He pulls it out of the fridge and devours the cold ham over the sink like an animal. Congealed fat drips over his fingers and plinks against the basin. His stomach rumbles at him angrily but he ignores it in favor of turning on the tap and taking long gulps from the stream. He feels translucent; paper thin, some strange shade of himself not quite right, his reflection a dark shape in the kitchen window. A hazy shadow of anger and hope.

He lies on his bed, stares up at the ceiling. There’s a strange water mark in the vaguest shape of Italy in the corner. He wonders how many years ago a person above him left the water on. Doesn’t let himself wonder about anything else. His stomach is in knots. Kailash comes and lays on his legs and that helps a little bit.

“Thanks girl,” he whispers to her.

  
  


* * *

_  
__What_ _are_ _you_ _?_ He asks; the wind picks up suddenly, rustling his hair, whipping his jacket around his body. The trees seem to echo his question. _Shee shee_ they say.  
  
Even still hasn’t moved from the glen, but he seems closer somehow. Maybe he’s just that bright. _Isak_ _,_ he sighs eventually, and it sounds like it comes from deep inside. _you_ _already_ _know_ _._

In the novel that is Isak’s life, Even’s role would at first seem only a paragraph. His influence a parenthesis, the thin thing a reader missed at first glance. On second, on third. A sharp reader may pick up on him in earlier pages, because Even was ubiquitous, like insidious rain water soaking through the bedrock, rotting out the foundation of the house. At the end of it all it turned out that Even had been there since the beginning.

* * *

“Mama.” Isak says quietly. Takes her pale shaky hand in his. “Mama, there’s someone I want you to meet.” He’s keenly aware of the shape of Even at his back.

Marianne keeps looking out the window, humming to herself.

“Mama?” He says again.

“Here let me.” Even comes to sit on the other side of her. “Marianne?” He says quietly, in a tone of voice Isak doesn’t recognize. “Can you hear me?” 

Slowly, as if in a dream, his mother turns her head.

* * *

He steps off the ferry like a blind man, rambles mindlessly through the trees. Stops by the water. Waits. Waits and at length, he comes.

  
“I’m not like them. Whatever she told you, it wasn’t true.” Even’s eyes are a solemn blue in a pale face when Isak turns to meet them.  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Isak shrugs, pressing his mouth together. He looks out over the water, thinks suddenly of his rumpled bed sheets, afternoon sunlight dappling across it like rain. The sound of his heart beat in his ears when he ran through the woods. Years and years of voiceless nightmares, strange kingdoms deep under the earth. Glinting towers of impossible glass, sharp spires rising into the night. a cavernous chamber, tall flames of light, a crown of fire and kind eyes. Even’s mouth in the darkness of their bedroom.

He thinks _, Maybe it's not true…_ _but_ _how_ _will I ever_ _know_ _?_

“Who was Helena?” Isak asks instead, gazing out over the water. “She was one of your people wasn’t she? One of them?” _Sidhe_ his mother’s voice says in his mind, static like the old television set she’d like to keep on at all times to block the voices. Like the iron bracelet around his wrist.

“Yes,” Even says after a moment. “She was my sister.”

“God.” Isak swallows. He doesn’t know what else to say. Thinks about mortality and the whys and the hows. In the end, _what did it really matter?_ He thinks of the spiral galaxy in black and white, spinning out into eternity. Fated to be devoured by its own ravenous center. A snake eating itself. Then he tries not to think at all.

  
“Oh Isak,” Even whispers, like Isak’s name is a full round thing: soft, a meal, bright light in the autumn. “It matters.”

  
  
“I…I have to go,” Isak pulls his hoodie down further over his face. “Please. Don’t contact me again.”

  
  
“I won’t.” Even says after a moment. His voice is quiet now, faint like it’s coming from very far away. He seems to be fading, a mere shadow now, a wisp of a shade between the barren trees. “I’m so sorry Isak.”

  
 _Me_ _too_ _._ He lets himself look for a moment at Even, the soft curve of his cheek, the gold of his hair in the darkness, those bleak eyes, and then he turns away. _Maybe I can forget_ , Isak thinks desperately. He has a lifetime to believe it.  
  


**END pt 1**

* * *

Take the fair face of woman, and gently suspending, with butterflies, flowers and jewels attending, thus your fairy is made of **most beautiful things**

(purported to be from a poem by Charles Ede)

someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. there is no other version of this story. - Richard Siken

**Author's Note:**

> Did anyone get this far?  
> look do I have a good excuse for this? No. do I know anything about hacking or computers? Also no. I just had this inside and it had to come out. Sorry guys. I sincerely hope everyone gets to the end and says ‘what the fuck did I just read?” because that’s what I felt like while writing it. I actually hate this and will never read it again. But please tell me what you think. also sorry for any typos. come see me on tumblr at kausaus. bye!


End file.
